


Land of the Lost

by abbeytre3



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Build, but the characters from high school, so they have no idea whats going on either, technically fantasy au, with like dragons and magic and stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbeytre3/pseuds/abbeytre3
Summary: But still I’m just a little scaredFor who gets cutAnd who gets sparedWhen I'm the cool dude, the hero, or whateverIf Christine likes me in the endWill I be able to pretendI didn’t fail my one real friend?~Loser, Geek, Whatever





	1. We're Not In New Jersey Anymore

Brooke liked to go through life in blissful ignorance.

She enjoyed being thought of as a ditsy blonde.

It was easier that way.

 

 

“Do you think that like Spiderman has ever killed someone? Like accidentally? Because like, he has several times the normal human strength and—”

“Ohmygod Brooke, please stop with the nerd shit for one second and tell me which dress looks better!”

Brooke stopped chipping away at her nail polish momentarily and glanced up to see Chloe swaying two dresses in front of the store’s display mirror.

She waved her hand dismissively and tugged her phone from her clutch, “Oh um the blue bodycon, it’ll make your butt look great.”

Chloe blinked and then shifted her intense stare to dart between the short blue dress and the light pink A-line.

Scrolling through her feed, Brooke’s lips turned down as she scanned a skeevy message, blocked and reported, “Jake would love it.”

Chloe hummed and tossed the pink dress aside, holding the blue against her body, “He would, wouldn’t he.” Not waiting for a response, she strode past Brooke, presumably to pay.

She continued scrolling, a “Brooke!” making her pop her head up and trot over to the register.

Craning her head to scan the store, Chloe snapped her fingers at Brooke, “Did you see where I left my purse? Kind of a totally life or death matter here.”

Brooke shrugged a chain down her shoulder, grabbed the purse that had been hanging, and handed it over to Chloe. “I did, in fact.”

With no further incidents, the two girls were able to exit the store, and immediately were faced with a decision that was perhaps the most difficult to answer yet, where to go in the mall next.

Chloe started to propose, “We could stop by Pi—”

“Stop right there, I love Pinkberry, you know that I do. But if I don’t get some actual food in me first, then my body is going to stage a rebellion and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Chloe hiked an eyebrow, “So food court then?” She spun on the heel of her rose gold hi-tops and made off for the center of the mall, calling out to a Brooke trailing behind her, “And seriously? Don’t ever interrupt me again.”

On the way, Brooke dragged on the top of her browser to refresh her feed, a certain person’s selfie popping to the top. She felt a stone drop to her gut as her best friend stiffened next to her. With a time stamp of four minutes ago, and Jake’s grinning face posing outside of a SBarros with a certain _Christine Canigula_ , there was only one possible person that Chloe could have spotted.

 

 

The thing was though, that Chloe was Brooke’s Best Friend. But Brooke was not Chloe’s Best Friend, or even best friend, she was a good, maybe above average friend.

There’s a certain level of acceptance that has to come with knowing that there was not a mutual level of regard. Acceptance does not mean that it did not hurt however, simply that there were a few truths that she had to come to terms with to continue being around certain peoples.

Jake Dillanger was Chloe’s Best Friend however. The two had been sharing secrets and swapping blackmail ever since an incident that Brooke secretly dubbed _Budapest_ that had supposedly occurred in elementary school. Neither would admit the details but all it would take is one mention, and they would be ducking curfews and ‘borrowing’ cars for one another.

Jake was Chloe’s first _everything_ as far as Brooke knew. First crush, first kiss, first heartbreak. He _knew_ her and that he would more than break up with her, throw her away, abandon their happiness, made Brooke see red sometimes. The only thing that stopped her from keying his car and slitting exactly three tires of his Jeep when she heard the news was Chloe, red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks, tears still running down her face, saying “I need you here right now”.

 

Brooke’s fingers whispered past the chiffon sleeve of Chloe, who was charging ahead full speed, painfully bright smile in place and voice pitched slightly higher than usual, “Ja~ake! What a surprise!”

She crossed her arms and watched the scene guardedly; one wrong move and that pizza tray was going down his shirt.

The tall almost man, but still seventeen, still a boy, god they were all still children practically, slid his tray evenly onto the counter, not wobbling the two fountain drinks at all, and in a well practiced move reminiscent of art, violently reminding Brooke of hours spent in a studio to a sharp voice counting and counting and counting, swept Chloe up into a spin. Lifting her up and twirling her around, settling her down with an exaggerated bow, and as suddenly as he had appeared, as suddenly as the panic and pain and memories had crashed over her, dragging her down into the tide, back out to the _one, two, three, one, two, three, again_ , Brooke angled her head away from the scene and took two quick unsteady steps back.

“Aw Fuck!”

“There goes my bar mitzvah money…”

The steady drip of syrupy running liquid falling over the edge of a table soon accompanied the grumbling.

Wide eyed and face frozen in shock, Brooke mechanically turned around slowly, taking in the disaster scene that she had inadvertently created.

Their faces ghosted déjà vu across her mind, although they must have been unknown to her. She was sure that she has never spoken to either of them and yet the seeing the two gangly teenage boys, hazily familiar, like seen in the background of a dream once, or a classroom, each holding a fistful of napkins frantically trying to sop up a soda spill invoked a sense of routine. Like she had seen and known these two to always be getting in and out of mischief.

“One minute Jeremy, I got this!”

Jeremy, that sounded right. Somehow.

The speaker, the not-Jeremy, quickly yanked up the hem of his large red sweatshirt, impeded by his glasses tangling in the fabric as he attempted to get the mass over his head.

Chloe was bargaining for Jake’s attention, which he freely gave, while Christine was drawn in by sharp interrogations, keeping up with the barbed nature of the other girl.

‘Jeremy’ was scrambling after the glasses precariously teetering on the edge of the hood, hooked around a cluster of fabric just enough to not shatter to the ground. Each jerked motion of the other boy twisted the hoodie further and trapped him more tightly than before.

Thus, Brooke was left.

She was the only left whose eye had a hope of catching the spark of light, whose attention could be caught to utter, “Hey guys, is that supp—”

The only one who witnessed the explosion.

 

 

_One, Two, Three, Again. One, Two, Three, Again._

“One, two, three. One, two, three…” muttering filled her ears, drawing her out of the fog. Her eyelids were unusually heavy, not since Chloe’s last birthday party had she felt this combination of exhaustion and fire racing through her veins. That might have been the vodka back then though. “two, three. One, two, thre—” Brooke cut off with a start upon realizing it was her creating the count.

Forcing her eyes to open and focus, Brooke heaved herself into a semi upright position, supported by her arms. Everything was blurry, she blinked slowly, trying to force her contacts back into position. She balanced on one arm to rub at her eye, groaning in frustration when instead of regaining her vision, her contact dropped out and disappeared between the grass leaves.

Blinking back frustrated tears, Brooke climbed to her knees and stood up. Wiping away the moisture with the back of her hand, she gazed out at her surroundings. One eye perfectly clear, the other with a hazy veil over it. Shaking back her hair, Brooke took a deep breath. She picked out her other useless contact and the world sharpened, etching into her mind the burning realization that this was real, a reality that her mind had been doing its best to block out.

A rolling deep green field unfolded itself in front of her, dotted with wildflowers, as a wheat farm stretched out into the horizon beyond. An older but well-kept windmill slowly turned in the gentle breeze, the mid-day sun warming the wooden slats.

She was almost charmed.

A shadow and deep heat fell over her, blocking out the sun momentarily as it passed. The large shadow glided across the field, leaving withered grass behind and a sudden chill in her bones. Off in the distance, by the peacefully spinning windmill, a creature dropped down, balancing across the blades.

It appeared to be a large lizard, colored a venomous green from the tip of its snout deepening across its scaled body down to a forest green coating its barbed tail. It shifted, fluttering webbed wings, before tucking them in close to its body and settling down.

“Oh _Fuck_ ”

 


	2. With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility

Brooke was cool, and chill. Things didn't get under her skin, because she didn't think about them too hard. They were unnecessary worries, if she couldn't change anything, then there was no use in thinking about it.

So she didn't ponder her sudden excellent, more than excellent if she was honest, vision. Nor did she wrack her mind for an explanation of her sudden location.

Nothing was going to be answered by sitting around in a stupid, so she set out. In an opposite direction, away from what she was quite sure was a dragon, of course.

 

 

Brooke strolled into the heavily wooded forest, branches immediately snagging her cardigan and within a few feet, the floor, shrouded in snarled undergrowth, produced enough small branches to herald her coming with tell tale snaps.

On the edge of being bothered, Brooke wrestled her bulky cardigan out of the branches' grasp and off her shoulders, tieing it around her waist, where only the thinner branches could make an attempt. Leaving her in a tank top and crocheted sweater, she marched on, occasionally wincing at just how loud her footsteps were.

Her first true obstacle, as crunching branches and thorny shrubbery were only occupational hazards when one was to tromp through the woods, was a felled tree. By this time, weaving around suspiciously colored vines and making her own path in this forest that was truly claimed by nature, Brooke was well and truly lost. The sun was shrouded by the thick canopy of leaves overhead, and her only guiding beacon had been 'forward'.

Her shoulders slumped and a huff of frustration escaped her. Hugging her arms to herself, Brooke began muttering as she scanned the area, "the only way forward is back. This isn't good, I can't go back if I ever want to see anything but trees."

Glaring at the log, Brooke decided that this did really and truly bother her, and she should let it know.

"If only you weren't here! What are you even doing, lying there, how are you contributing anything! You're just a hazard, being so big and" she waved a hand ineffectively, "impassible".

Giving in to her more childish instincts, Brooke tossed a swift kick at the log, pulling back any real force to ensure the unscuffed surface of her sketchers.

With a crack unlike anything she had heard before, like the breaking of thunder, the fallen tree, as tall as her before, split down the middle and fell to either side, the equal trunks clearing a path for her through the forest for a good few hundred feet.

Once her ears ceased ringing and the great plumes of dirt had settled down, Brooke may have been breathing a little faster than usual. Just a little.

_One, two, three. One, two, three, again._

Brooke screwed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, "What would... What would Spiderman do?" She thought for a moment, "No, no, he's not exactly a glistening example of sound and logical decisions after being handed a great deal of power. What would,... Pepper Potts do?"

Brooke relaxed her tense posture and carefully began stretching her muscles. Opening her eyes, she stared at the destruction she was once again responsible for creating, "There's a path ahead. Pepper Potts would keep moving forward."

Able to dispense of obstacles rapidly now, and discovering that the snagging branches were not much of a hindrance if she kept moving, as they simply tore off with seemingly no resistance, she was able to move at a much faster clip. Although her throat became sore with thirst, and her stomach began to rumble ominously, Brooke found throughout the hours, that she did not tire.

And it did take hours. By the time the trees began thinning and the undergrowth gave way to reveal hard packed dirt, the sun that managed to filter through the leaves barely speckled the ground. Seeing the end in sight, Brooke started into a jog, the ground flying beneath her feet disorientingly fast.

She broke through gnarled shrubbery, the forest ending abruptly, and skidded to a halt.

The edge of the forest was situated on a cliff, overlooking a small town. The waning light cast the stone building and fabric canopies in hues of violets and pastel pinks.

 

 

Brooke sauntered through the town, unheeding of the stares given by the townsfolk for not just her unusual dress, but for being covered head to toe in dirt from her slide down the near vertical cliff face. She had not a bruise, felt no pain from the journey, and most importantly of all, knew nobody in this strange and unfamiliar place, and consequently so, felt no shame in her appearance. In fact, quite the opposite, she was grinning ear to ear, adrenaline from the drop, something she never would have dared at home, was coursing through her veins, making her feel more alive than vodka ever dared.

A piercing voice cut through the air, causing a lute player to pause mid-strum,

“What do you mean you don’t know what American Express is?!” A beat passed, “Cash? You don’t take cash?! What kind of scam are you running?!”

Brooke glanced her appearance in a passing window, hair matted with dirt and partial leaves twisted up hopelessly in her locks, sweater now frayed from brambles, and her jeans torn beyond fashionable. Her sketchers, oh her sketchers were no longer the gleaming white she had striven to keep them at for the past few months, but a dingy brown, stained and dark from the sparse puddles she had plowed through.

Hands tremoring, Brooke unfolded the cardigan from her waist and pulled her arms through the sleeves, praying that it covered up some of the damage.

Then, she threw her shoulders back and walked forward calmly to face the music.

At a booth across the bazaar, caramel waves bounced energetically, being tossed by the frantic hand or moved by the weaving and bobbing of the body it was attached to, the person’s movements detailing their frustration as much as their words.

As Brooke neared, the figure moved aside, and she was able to see the shopkeeper in sharp definition. Their dark blue skin had an iridescent sheen to it, face beset by deep furrows and inlaid evergreen eyes, shimmering like jewels with an unsettling internal light. They were not short, but stout, their heavy tunic and sturdy roped trousers cutting a sharp contrast to the gleaming pendant pinned to where their heart would lie beneath, were they a human. Which they certainly were not. Setting aside the unusual skin tone, from underneath a cap protruded large floppy ears that twitched in irritation every time the haggler’s voice pitched higher.

The shopkeeper pointed at the haggler’s coat and said something unintelligible.

The person recoiled in disgust, “This! This is Gucci!”

Brooke waved uselessly at the person’s back. Clearing her throat, “Oh hi Chloe.”

Chloe spun around, her irate glare not abating for Brooke. Arcing her arm demonstratedly she heatedly laid out, “He wants _me_ to trade my _Gucci_ , for a room in the inn, because they,” She pitched her voice even higher in parody, to the displeasure of the unamused shopkeeper, “ _Don’t accept foreign bits of tender._ They don’t accept any of my money. Which means I’ll starve,” she glared at the shopkeeper again, “but at least I’ll die with a roof over my head!”

The shopkeeper slammed his hand down on the wooden table, which let out an ominous creak, and bit out more words that were incomprehensible to Brooke.

With a flair, Chloe rolled her eyes and spit back, “Well it would have been nice to know before that guests receive complementary meals at your ‘tavern’ or whatever for the length of their stay!” She growled and shucked her coat, shoving it at the shop— well now more accurately innkeeper.

His unfriendly countenance melted away and he grinned merrily, reaching underneath the table to retrieve a key with a tag on it and handed it to Chloe, who snatched the key and stalked away to what was presumably the inn.

Brooke easily caught up to her and keeping exactly two steps behind, dared to ask, “What was that?”

Chloe yanked the heavy door open with effort, striding inside, ignoring the fireplaces and settings set out for guests, and headed straight for the staircase tucked away in the corner of the lobby. She seemed to not hear her, so Brooke readied herself to ask again, when Chloe reached to first step of the spiral and spoke, “What was what?”

Her tone was testy, and in another situation, Brooke may have abandoned the topic, but in this new unfamiliar place with its new unfamiliar rules, maybe their personal rules could change too.

“That conversation. What language was that?”

Chloe heaved a sigh and started climbing the stairs, expecting Brooke to be right behind her, as always, to catch her next barb, “It’s bartering, Brooke. Do keep up.”

They had reached the landing by the time Brooke had gathered herself to continue to push the subject, “I’m sure it was, but how were you able to understand him?! It was complete nonsense to me.”

Chloe turned to face Brooke, “What are you—”

“I believe what the lady was trying to say, is that she does not possess the same gift of Allspeak as you. What may make complete sense to you, well, her talent may lie in areas other than language.” A smooth voice interjected.

A man, who was leaned up against a doorframe and yet still taller than Brooke, eye level with Chloe, nodded to each of them before straightening up. His dark ember robes flowed around him, snapping precisely into place once he had stopped moving.

He talked over Chloe’s outraged, “How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off you creep?!”, and took Brooke’s hand. Bowing slightly over their joined hands, he released his light grip and introduced himself,

“I am Gloriosa, though you may call me,” he paused at a particularly scornful snort from Chloe, “…Glory.” Motioning at the door he asked, “Now may we all go inside, ours is hardly a discussion for the hallway, and besides, some guests may also like to utilize their quarters.”

Chloe jammed the key into the locked door, conveniently the same one that Glory had been resting upon, and pushed inside, petulantly flopping onto the only bed.

Glory closed the door after everyone was inside and folded himself gracefully on the clean wooden floor, gazing at Chloe steadily. Brooke situated by the window, folding in on herself in a self-conscious effort to not spread the grime she brought with her, and for the first time since waking up that day, wishing for a bath. Her stomach grumbled lowly but she paid it no heed.

Glory took out a small pouch that had been hidden by his outer cloak and stated peacefully, “We have to talk about your magic.”

Through a couple years of sleepovers, Brooke made out Chloe’s muffled, “I don’t have any,” from where she was shoving her face into a pillow.

Patiently Glory started taking a few items out of his bag, a twig, a clear pouch of white dust, and a charcoal pencil. “You possess the ability to talk to all living creatures that have created a language. That innate ability itself shows great magical potential. It would usually take years of study to gain the mastery you take for granted.”

Chloe threw her arm in the air and waggled it vaguely in Brooke’s direction before flopping it back down onto the bed. “Give it to her or something. I don’t care, I don’t want it.”

Glory questioned, “How do you think magic works exactly?”

Chloe huffed, “I say some magic words, wave a stick, and things happen?”

Glory’s mouth hung open, “That’s not how this works! That’s not how anything works. Magic is a skill, an artform that takes years to even get a grasp on. Its runes, and materials, and _knowledge_. Each spell is unique, and it takes the _how_ and the _why_ to even try to make the _what_ happen.” He picked up the clear bag, whispered a few words under his breath, and held his other hand steady over the twig. The white dust inside faded, Glory’s hand glowed soft teal for a split second, and the twig twitched, spitting out neat perfect replicas of itself, until twenty twigs lined up in two neat columns.

He picked up one twig, “This is the raw material for the most basic spell, and often the first one most magic users learn, the repair spell. A spell is different to each being, it is personalized. The groundwork for the spell is in here,” he tapped the side of his head, “but the activation code is decided by the magic user. For example,” he snapped the twig in half and pointed to the crack in the window pane, “ _Orchid_.” The twig halves dissolved, and the glass healed, leaving it unmarred.

Through the course of the explanation, Chloe had moved closer to the edge of the bed, now scrutinizing Glory.

He tilted his head to the side and stared back, unperturbed, “I can’t force you in the end, this has to be your decision.” He selected a twig from the pile and offered it to the brunette, “Would you like to learn?”

 

 

The three of them were _finally_ sitting on a wooden bench at the tavern, digging into roasted meat of _something_ , and letting the idle chatter of the room wash over them.

Brooke stared at a heated discussion happening a few tables away. She could hear the words perfectly, but their translation remained a mystery.

Chloe jostled Brooke as she rooted around in her pocket, gaining her attention when she pulled out a twig.

Chloe broke the stick and deadpanned at Brooke, “ _Fix This_ ,” completely ignoring Glory’s wail of

“That’s not how it works!”

The two shared a small smile at his distress and Brooke once again zeroed in on the strangers.

“And that’s when I told him where he could shove it! Trying to use lower quality woods on my wife’s carriage?! I don’t think so! And then—”

Now sporting an ecstatic grin, Brooke relaxed, tearing off a piece of meat and reveling in the legible chatter filling the tavern.

 


	3. Start Your Journey!

A large draw of video games is feeling wanted. Knowing that the world existed for you to save, that everyone, in one way or another, relied on you. The villain for a challenge, and the people for a savior. Even in racing games or puzzle challenges, would the world continue to exist without a need for the player?

 

 

Bowing over her once again grasped hand, Glory thanked her and stepped back, addressing them both, “I have set you upon your journey but cannot force you to traverse the difficult path ahead. Take care, and should you ever need me…”

His robes, contently hovering in midair, twisted around him, furling tighter and tighter until with a pop, the drape of cloth and being within vanished. His only trace of former presence being a small, thin, scroll floating to the ground and an echo on the wind, _Just call_.

Chloe muttered under her breath and sent a distasteful look towards the scroll, it's rolled edges innocently sparkling in the late day sun. Turning abruptly, unsettling the train of her heavy cape with a flutter, she stalked off towards the center of town with nary a glance back.

Brooke sighed and bent down to slide the scroll into her back pocket. She mumbled while doing so, "He did buy you that set of clothes, not even Jake would offer to pay."

Unfurling upwards, Brooke glanced around as if to find Chloe waiting for her. The only hint of the other girl’s presence was a flash of caramel locks taking a corner.

A spike of irritation shot through her, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “This will all get better. You just have to get through this. One, two, three. One, two, three, again. It will all be better when… when?”

Her eyes snapped open. There was no high school, no graduation day, no date that Chloe would have that epiphany that Brooke was always there for her to _be_ anything she needed. All Chloe saw was someone who would jump when beckoned. A lap dog waiting for orders.

No one knew her here, and she had _power_.

So why can’t she just leave?

What was keeping her here?

Nothing.

 

And on the second day, with eyes on the horizon and nothing but open land ahead, Brooke set off to be her own hero this time.

 

Brooke has never been out of shape. From short lived soccer, to her lifelong affair with the ballet studio, she has always been able to _move_ when she needed to.

But never like this.

The ground flew past her feet, scenery and obstacles moving by so fast she almost didn’t have time to process it. Almost.

Furrows were leapt over, rivers ran over without so much of a droplet wetting her sketchers, and in one particularly daring move, with an adrenaline-fueled holler, jumped off a boulder and arced through the air, kicking up a great cloud of dirt and vegetation upon her rough landing. Brooke stumbled, but never stopped, never paused, before taking off again, unheeding of the deep footprint etched into the stone.

The already setting sun began bleeding into night when she slowed, dark tendrils whipping through the magenta sky as stars shined brighter.

As soon as both her feet touched the ground and remained stationary, the world tilted, righted itself and subtly shuddered. With her tunnel vision lifted, Brooke began to notice the rough makeup of a sprawling once-caravan beyond the river whose bank she was resting on. The wheels on the wagon homes were overgrown, vines creeping up and strange flowers peeking out between the spokes. Slightly pebbled streets ran through the town, decorated with children of all shapes and color, united in their brown utilitarian play wear, yelling and chasing each other with what Brooke hoped to be toy or at least dulled swords.

Brooke took a step forward, immediately drenching up to her knee in piercing cold water. With a yelp she dashed, and slid to a sudden stop in front of a large circular building, that she though she almost certainly could not leap clear.

As her world readjusted she became aware of the deep thrumming voice talking to her.

“—there aren’t you. No matter, you made it just in time for the next game. Do a bit alright in there won’t you, popping in out of nowhere like that. Well anyway I’ll stop my yabbering, welcome to the _Shatterfest_ and all, go right inside now.”

The mountainous being nodded his large heavy head and placed the pads of his mauve paw onto one of the many columns that made up the building. The… Brooke looked at the circular architecture, the marble columns, the shouts ringing from outside, and the bloodthirsty cheers that was the ambiance…

The colosseum.  

The column receded back from its brethren and revealed a dimly lit tunnel, a few small torches adorned to the wall providing a glimmer of light.

“Well off you go then”

Brooke felt a pressure on her back, a quick shove, and with a surprised stumble, and slamming of the marble, the only way she had to go, was forward.

She carefully stepped through the arches, willing herself not to burst into the blinding speed, just to get this damp chill hallway over with. It may be creepy, but she has no idea what lays beyond, she may be wishing for this time again.

After a few minutes of walking, hearing nothing but her own footsteps and shuttered, panicky breathing, a pinprick of light began to shine off in the distance.

“Oh finally” Brooke exhaled under her breath, no words no more than light puffs of air. Something echoes down the way but she continued towards her goal.

As the light grew brighter, another doorway becoming more visible, the oppressing silence began to lift. A muffled sort of excited chatter started to filter through the marble to Brooke, as if the walls were becoming thinner.

She passed by the final torch and prepared herself to open the door and whatever lay beyond. She grasped the handle and the sparse torches whispered out, leaving her in complete darkness.

“What the hell?” she whispered.

_“WHAT THE HELL?”_ boomed from outside the door, a hush overfalling the background noise.

Taken aback, Brooke clutched the smooth metal handle tightly and threw open the door, blinding herself with light that shouldn’t be possible, given that she had entered at dusk. Surely she wasn’t in there so long?

Stepping forward and blinking rapidly, Brooke had barely registered the sight of a navy sky speckled with a few particularly bright stars before she was knocked to the ground.

An older woman’s face filled her sight, teeth bared and shouting something incomprehensible, once more, to Brooke.

Bewildered, Brooke pushed the woman off of her, sending her flying back to the other side of the arena.

The pieces quickly clicking into place, the colosseum, the attack, the _audio system_ , Brooke figured that she was in some sort of ranked match for amusement. Scrambling up and bracing her footing, she waited for another barrage.

But the woman did not get up. She didn’t twitch from the felled heap against the opposing wall.

“ _THREE, TWO, ONE_ ”

She didn’t register the buzzer going off, but begged internally despite the sinking feeling in her stomach, that she had not just accidently taken a life.

And then she fell.

From what she could piece together later, the ground caved in and deposited her twenty feet below, but all she knew at the moment, was that as suddenly as she was in free fall, she was standing on solid ground.

“Welcome to Shatterfest! Congratulations on winning your Round One! You’ll get better as you get the rhythm of it I promise. Just for record keeping purposes, your time this round was one second!” The boisterous man stopped, looked back at his sheath of papers, shuffled them around, and continued albeit more reservedly, “Ah, in one. One second. That is a new record for the Shatterfest, we’re only the best of the best warriors you know!” He cocked his head, “Injuries?” and without waiting for a response, not that as dumbfounded as she was Brooke could give him one, and cheerfully shouted, “MEDIC!”

A blast of air filled the room, and another hole in the ceiling appeared, dropping another warrior, awake, aware, but in a so much worse condition than Brooke, as the muscled body was dripping blood from a stubbed arm, one arm health and whole gripping hands with the other that was not so much.

A boy with a shock of white hair and glasses, in a white tunic and what appeared to be jeans, hurried towards her, brushing fingertips across the back of the warrior’s neck. A strand of hair near his temple turned pitch black and when Brooke cautiously turned eyes back on the warrior, his arms were complete and he was picking himself off of the hard packed dirt floor apparently no worse for wear but the blood splattered across his body.

“Oh! Brooke! You’re here too?! I mean that totally makes sense, because you were like _right there_ when it happened and kind of actually caused it all, kind of. Only none of this really makes sense, because while a bit _awesome,_ how this came to be and how we came to be doesn’t make any sort of sense at all.”

The boy was, somewhat familiar, in the sense that she may have seen him in passing, but there was something more solid about that _voice_. So many people had been thrown at her in the last few days, so many places and things and rules and amazing things truly, but just so much, that she almost felt bad for not feeling bad for not knowing who the boy was.

Bluntly, she asked, “Who are you?”

Touching her shoulder unprompted, she frowned and answered distractedly, “The medic. Huh, that’s strange, you don’t appear to have any injuries. External, internal, noting. That’s quite odd for the amount of dirt and whatever else you are covered in. Follow me, we’ll get you some new-ish clothes. I may have only just started but even I know the Boss hates it when people go in looking like they were rolling in a field.”

Brooke followed behind him, absently noting the accumulation of black hairs by his nape, “No I mean, your name? Have we met? Why do you know my name?”

Michael came to a stop and turned around with a raised eyebrow. Dumping a folded shirt and pair of pants into her arms, he said disbelievingly, “I’m Michael? I sit next to you in pre-calc? We’ve literally had to do assignments together before.” At her blank stare he continued, “Oh my god, you don’t pay attention to anyone else in the world outside your circle, do you. Okay, imagine all of this,” He swept his arm down his body in an audition for Vanna White, “But with _black_ hair, and in a red hoodie. Patches? These things,” he imitated glasses, and then snapped his fingers at her, “Seriously Brooke?! You literally  ran into me like two days ago.”

Realization flooded her, “You’re that kid from the mall! With like, Jerry or whatever! We have math together? Also, dude, you look seriously different, don’t fault me for not having like instant recognition.”


	4. Round Two

You're better than this.

"--this." 

Brooke came back to herself at the end of Michael's sentence. She blinked vacantly, "What?"

Michael rolled his eyes and absently tapped the shoulder of a passing... Being. It's slashed chest knitted up and he gained another dark spot of hair. Exasperated he started again, "How are you doing being mixed up in all of this? Is what I was asking. Seriously, you can't blame people for thinking you don't give a shit when you zone out all the time."

A small frown tugged at the corner of her lips, staring determinedly at his right ear she replied quietly, "I don't blame them." 

Michael waved his hand dismissivley, "Look. You're in the Shatterfest, the only way out is to get to the end. You don't have to kill anyone or anything, just knock them out of commission. I'll see you between rounds, and if you make it to the end. You're the first person I've seen that I know, so you better work fast and win. Good luck, you're up."

Brooke felt the hard packed dirt softening and quickly shot out a confused, "Wait? How-What are you doing here?"

He saluted sarcastically, "We all have to eat Brooke"

And then she plummeted downwards, falling, again. 

 

This time, as soon as she hit the ground in a crouch, there was not nearly as much adjusting visually. The dim light of the between room and the dank poorly lit area were similar enough. Brooke could barely make out the mass of the crowd, but the breathing of a hundred people on the edge of their seats assured her that there was something show worthy coming.

A deep rumble started to shake the archway facing her. Quickly the quakes increased, and Brooke was fighting to keep footing. 

A roar felt like it nearly split her head and she hastily jumped back in surprise, and upon her feet impacting the rough stone, broke the face, her feet sinking nearly half a foot down. 

With a now ramaging creature, it's maw glinting with unnatural light as it made a barely too close swipe, bearing down on her, Brooke struggled to run. 

Her feet were stuck in the stone floor. Tugging futiley, she whipped her head up to feel the blast of heated breath graze her arm, leaving it mottled red and blisteringly angry. 

Closing her eyes and crossing her arms defensively, she stuck through to her only spur of the moment plan, "What would Wonder Woman do?".

A cavernous boom shook the arena, cracking the stone and allowing Brooke to unstick her feet. She forced one eye open, only to see the creature lying down, a large mound of scales and interspersed feathers. It's open mouth faced towards her, the one whole unbroken tooth as long as she was tall, and as sharp as she wasn't. 

In a what she thought as first was a trick of her eyes, the cracks in the ground began to sparkle ominously. Slowly, then quickly all at once, as fast as the freefall into sleep, the glow increased until she was engulfed in light and with a blink, Brooke found herself facing a new muscular bulky being. 

They said something and motioned a sheath of parchment around, before bellowing and leaving her there on the floor, mystified and in quite a bit of pain now that the shock has worn off. 

"Mich--!" She started, before he cut her off by poking her arm with the tip of his finger, the red receding and leaving unblemished skin behind. 

Though she had seen him do it several times before, seeing him up close perform his witchcraft, with no rules or phrases or materials in sight, amazed her because it went against everything Glory had drilled into them. 

Glory... Her back pocket burned in sudden remembrance, before Michael snapped his fingers in her face.

"You were muttering a bit about rules and materials there. They don't apply to me. Most of them anyways. Those rules are for magic users balancing the correct amount of light, dark, and grey mana within their bodies. I don't do that. I have an unnatural amount of light mana inside my core, so as long as this hair is white, I can only do one thing, and that's healing."

He muttered under his breath something about Earth and irony, but Brooke had learned to be real good at pretending she never heard someone when they didn't want to be. 

He clapped, jolting Brooke back when she hadn't even realized that she had been staring into space. How long did it last this time?

"Right so, important question. Brooke, what the fuck."

"What?"

He waved his arm into the air haphazardly, "I watched your 'performance' out there this time. You are beating the record holder, and it seems accidentally! Do you even know where you are?!" 

"Shatterfest, exactly like a roman colosseum. Do you know where you are Michael? This world or anything about it? Or did you just try to fit into the first place you landed?"

The excited gleam in his eyes dimmed and his face grew hard, "I don't need to know. I just need money and resources to survive long enough to get back home. Nothing else matters."

Brooke bristled, "Of course it matters! We're in a basically magical whole new world and you don't want to know anything about it or why we're here?! Why would you want to go home?"

Michael bared his teeth, "Your family expierences are not universal. I have to get home. Nothing. Else. Matters." 

He waved and a flood of panic crashed over Brooke as she lost any ground.


	5. The Early Boss Level

The hardwood was smooth underneath her skechers, and the glass mirrored walls evoked a sensory memory within her, of the sharp scent of pine resin polish and the brush of hard tulle against her fingertips. The straps of a slipper cutting into the soft flesh of her ankles.    
  
A figure darted through her peripheral, a flash of brunette and hint of smoky leather.    
  
Her spine snapped straight as her stomach plummeted, heart beating a wild untamed tempo. Shaking her limbs loose, Brooke forced her muscles to relax instead of brace, for her blank stare to resolve into a strong and determined countenance.    
  
Ignoring the phantom pains spidering across her thigh, and clawing into her calf, Brooke swept a leg up and into an almost lazy but perfect pirouette. Her loose hair batting at her face obscured her vision but Brooke knew this place, this studio by heart.    
  
In a move identical to years before, she lashed out and hit the glass with a violent strike, causing hairline fractures to crawl across the face.   
  
Unlike before however, was the absence of blood and pain. She was able to stay on her own two feet in a shower of glass, as ever larger pieces broke off and shattered to the floor.    
  
Brooke blinked and she was standing alone in another circular arena, turning slowly she didn't glimpse a single glimmer or shard in the loose sand.    
  
A scattered pounding echoed in the distance, growing louder as it became more organized, building into a cacophony of stomping feet, hollars, and clapping.    
  
Light shined softly down upon her, making the hair falling over her shoulder shine like spun gold and this time, upon feeling the ground begin to weaken, Brook closed her eyes and accepted the fall.    
  
  
  
Brooke felt the tips of her toes touch a surface so she loose limbed accepted the ground and was deposited lightly. Slowly opening her eyes to the dim lit room of the between chamber, Brooke realized that her ground was actually a stout cabinet. She unfolded and dropped stealthily, the silence and calm brought from the arena before wrapping around her like a blanket.   
  
Wanting nothing more than to change out of her quite dirty and torn clothes, Brooke dodged the auburn figure talking at her and glanced around for a light haired figure.    
  
As if summoned, or more likely bellowed, Michael hurried over with a bundle of fabric.    
  
She paused at the grave expression drawing firm his lips and tightening the creases of his eyes, "Brooke. I am so sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you and I really apologize. Here."   
  
He gingerly held out a wrap tunic with a cashmere like softness, and a pair of golden leggings with shining thread in the stitching. Thumped by her feet were knee high butter leather boots.   
  
"It's the final round. In this bracket system they like the final two competitors to look nice for the victory photos and funeral viewing, respectively. Here."   
  
He brushed a silver shimmery powder on her collarbone and she felt a sense of cleanliness wash over her.    
  
Nodding her thanks she gathered the things and strode over to the curtained off area she had changed in before, although this time into much superior clothing.    
  
  
When she felt the floor shifting in warning once more, she could hear Michael quietly but firmly advising her from the other side of the curtain,    
  
"You don't have to say anything, no one can take away your validity."    
  
She nodded, even though he couldn't see her, and fell.    
  
  
  
Landing on her feet, Brooke immeidiatley sunk to the floor upon seeing a flash heading towards her face. A ...creature, with a head of a lion and a body very much not, leapt over her, it's talons brushing against her shoulder and breaking off like paper thin ice.    
  
Unfurling its wings with an ear wrenching cry, it took off into the night sky, circling the area from above.    
  
From her low position Broke could see no other figure though she knew they were there, knew if for there was no way that wild creature was her opponent for today and not a distraction.    
  
Eyes widening in shock and realization at the softening ground under her fingertips, Brooke prayed to the air that for once she could control this power, and punched the ground.   
  
Fissures raced out from her epicenture, great shards of rock shot up and in the clearing of the dust, the massive crater she had created lay barren, except for the kneeling girl.    
  
A cut and bloody arm raised up from one of the fissures, and Brooke leaned to the side and vomited.   
  
Her ears popped and raising her head, wiping off her mouth, she recognized sound.    
  
The ever present crowd, much larger than any round before, were chanting in unison. They were chanting not only at her, but for her.    
  
Feeling the thrill of adrenaline running through her veins, and the chanting filling some small neglected part of her heart, Brooke raised her arms to the sky and screamed in victory.   
  
The chanting grew to a deafening volume.    
  
  
  
  
  
"So what now?" Michael asked as he downed one of the many pitchers on their table, gifts from patrons of the tavern who wished to celebrate her victory. He continued, "you've got the fastest victory record of anyone, even the magic used famous for mind twisting couldn't slow you down. With that prize and winning bet money you could go pretty much anywhere for awhile."   
  
Brooke flipped a golden coin between her fingertips at a blinding speed, "I don't know yet. What about you?"    
  
"Well since I saw you I knew that you must have been gifted with some sort of power like me. So from placing a bet in your favor in the beginning against the favorites, I've made enough that I can finally get out of here."   
  
The coin stopped on an edge, balancing perfectly on her index finger, "Finally? I've only been here for two days... Have you been here longer?"    
  
Michael sputtered into his mug, "Brooke, that power in two days?!" He slammed the mug onto the table and looked her dead in the eye, "I've been working that hell job for a month and a half now."   
  



	6. Long Live the Queen

“Well have you found a way to get out? You seem kind of desperate.”

He winced, “Wow harsh man. And no, since they found out about my extreme imbalance of Light, I’ve barely seen the outside of the arena.”

Brooke leaned her chin into the palm of her hand and stared intently at Michael, “Well don’t you think its time? Let’s blow this town!”

Michael slowly blinked, “Are you suggesting, that we go together?”

She nodded enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up with an internal fire for the first time in years. She felt freer ever since that last fight, less like something had broken inside, and more like something clenching her every breath had been released. “How many other high schoolers get to be stuck in a fantasy world with amazing powers? I’ll punch, you’ll heal, we’re a perfect duo. Let’s do it Michael!”

He smiled wobblily, “Let’s become heroes?”

Brooke grinned, “The best god damn heroes!”

 

Later, on the outskirts of town, Brooke casually slammed a rock golem looking creature into pebbles as Michael perched on a nearby stone, attempting to read a map of the region.

He complained, “I just, just don’t understand this! Are we even sure that we got the right regional map?”

Brooke pocketed a few cracked geodes and then glanced over the map. She growled in frustration and poked a small icon of a city on the parchment, “Is this us? What was the name of the place we were in?”

“We were in Havensfield, but there’s no names on this map! Just symbols! What kind of shitty cartographer made this?!”

Brooke scanned the horizon for danger and mused, “The first step of a hundred is the most important. Right?”

Michael furiously poked the map again, “Yeah, sounds about right.” He answered distractedly.

She nodded in confirmation and unfolded a little piece of paper dropped by the enigmatic wizard. Before she could even start to try and make out the squiggles detailing it, a gust of wind stole it from her light grasp.

“Ah no!” Brooke ran after the paper and with a sudden burst of energy, leapt off the ground and attempted to snatch it back.

Only to recoil when instead of the thin paper, she grabbed a hand.

Glory smiled pleasantly and gave a little wave, “And how are you today Brooke? I hope you are not in any mortal danger?”

“Not really. We need help reading a map.”

Glory’s shoulders started shaking slightly as he hid his face behind his hand, “You are entertaining” He managed to get out.

After a minute of Brooke waiting for him to finish his snicker fit, Glory composed himself and motioned for her to lead the way, “I suppose we ought to get to the map!”

 

Glory’s face slackened in boredom, “And what exactly is wrong with this?”

Flapping the map around Michael explained, “There’s no landmarks, no names, no directions! How are we supposed to use this?!”

“Did you try telling it where you want to go?”

“Did we—what?” Michael glared at the map, “Take me to Jeremy”

The map furled out, resizing to about twice its original, ink sprawling across, to form a dotted line crawling over mountains until it hit a coast line, then over the water to a small boat with a star upon it labeled ‘Jeremy Heere’. In the lower left hand corner was a box with text within ’23 days Michael speed, 15 minutes Brooke speed, Set Course?’.

Michael blinked, “Brooke… just what are you.”

“I am a demi-god, daughter of Thor and Hermes.” She replied dadpan.

“Right well, besides mixing up mythos terribly, do you think you could lift me and get us there quicker? I’m not fancying an almost month long hike.”

Glory, who had been watching from the background, asked politely, “It seems like you two have you little conundrum all figured out, I’m going to head off, feel free to call if you need. Oh, and congratulations on being the Shatterfest champion, what a way to make an entrance!”

He furled in on himself until nothing was left but a small square of paper. Brooke picked it up and carefully put the summoning away.

She looked to Michael, “I suppose I could, apparently I’m strong now or whatever.”

She glanced at him consideringly, and in a single swooping motion, grasped him around the back and knees in a bridal carry and shot off, leaving his surprised scream back in the clearing.

Every few miles she glanced down at the map held in a white knuckled grip of a frozen Michael, it was in a basic straight line, which meant… that the mountain coming up quickly was going to have to be traveled over.

Had she ever truly tested her limits? Did she have any? Could she,

A pained moan escaped from Michael, “Don’t…even…think…about…it”

Brooke was sure that Michael wouldn’t mind. Picking up the speed slightly, she braced herself and springboarded off the ground, not knowing of the small fissures she left behind.

She started gaining altitude, the mountain retreated beneath her. And just as she started trying to figure out how to land,

She hit something.

With Michael in her arms she couldn’t scrabble for purchase on the scaly sharp surface and found herself in freefall, hitting the ground hard in the middle of a small campsite and setting off a dust cloud.

As the dirt settled, Brooke cracked open an eye to find two more staring at her. Michael, passed out in her arms, was unmoving, as the woman had a staring contest.

Brooke knew this woman. Knew that beyond the flowing locks and embroidered riding pants, take away the silk cravat and blouse winkling with tiny jewels, would be Christine freakin Canigula staring right at her.


End file.
